Chapter 11 Lindsay
ELEVEN
LINDSAY
Later that evening, the half-blood dorm is quiet—most of the other students are still in the common room arguing over card games or cramming for mid-term runes exams. The moon hangs low and fat outside the narrow window of our shared room, silver light spilling across the worn wooden floorboards and painting everything in soft, ghostly strokes.
I’m lounging on my old bed—the one that still smells faintly of lavender detergent and the cheap vanilla candle I used to burn when I couldn’t sleep—legs stretched out, back against the headboard, knees drawn up just enough to rest my arms on them.
My gaze is fixed on the moon. It feels closer tonight.
Hungrier. Like it’s watching me right back.
Tamsin is sprawled on her own bed across from mine, one leg dangling off the side, flipping through the last dog-eared comic she stole from the library.
She’s wearing mismatched socks—one bright pink with cartoon cats, the other black with little skulls—and an oversized hoodie that says “I’m not arguing, I’m just explaining why I’m right” in glitter letters.
She hasn’t said anything for almost ten minutes, which for Tamsin is basically a world record.
Finally, she snaps the comic shut and rolls onto her stomach, propping her chin in her hands.
“So…” she drawls, voice dripping with that signature Tamsin glee. “Shadow Daddy got absolutely smoked earlier. Like, roasted over an open flame and served with a side of ‘no thanks.’”
I snort despite myself, still staring at the moon.
“He tried to lie to me,” I say quietly. “Again. About the book. About where it is. About everything.”
Tamsin makes a low, sympathetic sound in her throat—half “aww,” half “damn, girl.”
“Yeah, that part was rough,” she admits. “I mean, points for consistency—he’s still the king of keeping shit from you. But also… ouch. You shut that down so fast I almost felt bad for him. Almost.”
She scoots to the edge of her bed, legs swinging.
“Listen, I’m not saying you were wrong. You weren’t.
He fucked up. Big time. Secrets, lies, letting you fall into the literal void—valid reasons to be pissed.
But…” she trails off, tilting her head. “You could see it on his face, Linds. The guy looked like you’d just ripped his still-beating heart out and fed it to the shadows. He’s wrecked.”
I finally pull my gaze from the moon and look at her.
“He might be one of my bonded,” I say slowly. “The prophecy says five. I can feel the thread. It’s still there. And I know I need him—need all of them—if this is going to work. But I’m still angry. He hasn’t changed. Not really. He’s still trying to protect me by lying to me.”
Tamsin nods, no judgment in her eyes. Just understanding.
“Anger’s valid,” she says simply. “And honestly? Angry make-up sex is the best kind. Like, top-tier, world-ending, ‘we’re probably gonna break the furniture’ kind of sex.
You two have all that delicious tension built up.
When you finally let it snap?” She makes an exaggerated chef’s-kiss gesture.
“Chef’s kiss. Explosive. Life-altering. You’ll thank me later. ”
I roll my eyes, but the corner of my mouth twitches.
“You’re impossible.”
“I’m right,” she counters, grinning. “And you know it. You’re mad at him, sure. But you’re not done with him. Not even close. You’re just mad he’s making you work for it.”
I let my head fall back against the headboard with a soft thud.
“Maybe,” I admit.
Tamsin scoots off her bed and flops down beside me on mine, shoulder bumping mine.
“Look,” she says, voice softer now. “You don’t have to forgive him tonight.
Or tomorrow. Or next week. But you also don’t have to keep him on the outside forever.
He’s trying. Clumsily. Stupidly. But he’s trying.
And you’re allowed to be angry and let him in a little.
At the same time. That’s what being bonded is, right? Messy. Complicated. Hot as hell.”
She nudges me again.
“And when you’re ready to stop being mad and start being naked with him? I want details. Graphic ones. I live vicariously through your love life.”
I laugh—quiet, reluctant, but real.
“You’re the worst.”
“I’m the best,” she corrects, grinning. “And you love me.”
I lean my head on her shoulder.
“Yeah,” I say softly. “I do.”
Outside, the moon keeps watching as the minutes tick by until midnight.
Midnight finds me at the east stairwell.
The corridor is dead quiet—only the faint hum of the academy’s old wards and the distant drip of water somewhere in the walls.
Moonlight spills through a narrow arrow-slit window, turning the stone silver and cold.
I stand just inside the shadows at the top of the stairs, wrapped in my own darkness like a cloak.
The shadows cling to me, thick and obedient, muffling my outline until I’m more absence than presence.
Even my breathing feels muffled, swallowed by the Veil’s quiet hum.
I watch him.
Kael is already here.
He’s leaning against the far wall, arms crossed, one boot propped on the base of the stair rail.
His black coat blends with the gloom, but he isn’t hiding tonight—not really.
The shadows around him are restless, curling and uncurling at his feet like they’re nervous on his behalf.
His head is bowed slightly, eyes fixed on the floor, but every few seconds, they flick toward the corridor—searching, waiting, hoping I’ll show.
He looks nervous.
Not the polished, controlled kind of tension he usually wears like armor. Real nerves. The kind that makes his shoulders tight, his fingers flex and release against his biceps, his jaw works like he’s chewing on words he can’t spit out.
Through the bond I can feel it all.
The ache in his chest. The guilt that still tastes like blood in his mouth.
The fear that I’ll walk up, take one look at him, and decide he’s not worth the risk anymore.
And beneath all of it, the steady burn of want—wanting to be close, wanting to prove something, wanting me to let him in even just a little.
And beneath that—so quiet I almost miss it—the way he’s watching the darkness that clings to me.
He’s thinking about it right now.
I can read the edges of his thoughts through the thread—not the full words, not yet, but the shape of them.
The shadows curling around my ankles. The way they move when I move.
The way they feel like an extension of me, not something separate.
He’s wondering if they’re changing me. If they’re dangerous.
If they need to be… fixed. Contained. Watched.
He’s afraid of what they’ll do to me.
Afraid of what they’ll make me do.
Afraid he won’t be able to stop it if it goes too far.
I let the thought linger between us for a heartbeat longer. Then I step forward.
The shadows part around me like water, silent, smooth. He doesn’t hear me coming until I’m almost beside him.
His head snaps up.
“Lindsay.”
My name on his lips is rough, relieved, reverent—all at once.
I stop just outside arm’s reach.
“You’re early,” I say.
He swallows. “I didn’t want to risk being late.”
I study him—the faint tremor in his hands, the way his shadows reach for mine and then pull back like they’re afraid of rejection.
“You’re nervous,” I observe. I’m not sure I like this version of Kael. I like when he’s confident, a little broody, and protective…this nervousness doesn’t suit him.
He doesn’t deny it.
“I’m always nervous around you now,” he admits quietly. “I keep waiting for the moment you decide I’m not worth the risk. That I’m still the one who kept secrets.”
I tilt my head. The shadows at my feet rise slightly, brushing the hem of his coat, the blue and purple threads inside them sparking once like distant lightning.
“Then maybe you should stop keeping secrets.”
“Fair,” he mutters.
“The darkness that came back with me, Kael…it’s not something separate.
It’s me. I am from the oldest part of the Veil.
And going into the Veil only reminded me of who I am.
And I’m not afraid of it. It doesn’t want to hurt me, and I wouldn’t let it if it tried.
But you need to know, I’m not going to let anyone—anyone—try to fix it out of me. If you can’t…”
“Sunshine, I can…I can accept you.”
Something eases inside my chest at his words. I know he doesn’t feel them fully, and he’s still fighting with himself, but he wants me enough to try.
I step closer—close enough that our shadows fully tangle, lightning threading through his velvet black like veins of a storm at night.
His breath catches.
I reach out and press my palm to his chest. Right over his heart, feeling it pound against my fingers.
“I’m still angry,” I tell him. “I’m still hurt. You tried to lie to me again today about the book. That doesn’t just go away because you’re sorry.”
His hand covers mine, holding me to him. His eyes dropping shut.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
I lean in close enough that my breath brushes his lips. “Then prove it,” I say softly. “Starting tonight.”
He opens his eyes, and the thread that connects us burns brightly between us.
His gaze drops to my lips, and I know he’s thinking about kissing me.
If he does that, it might distract me from my mission.
The monster in the Veil, my father, told me the book holds secrets he couldn’t tell me, a way to unlock the truth. So I step back.
“Lead the way,” I tell him.
He straightens—shoulders squaring, the familiar broody confidence creeping back into his posture like a cloak he’s finally allowed to wear again.
He turns toward the stairs and leads us down.